


Vapor

by redtrouble



Series: Demonheart: Through the Eyes of Sir Brash [8]
Category: Demonheart (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 04:19:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15162515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtrouble/pseuds/redtrouble
Summary: Sir Brash is tortured. (Spoilers, so play first, please!) Rated M for mature language.





	Vapor

_Sunlight sparkling. A white sky. Splotches of green. Wind rustling leaves. Laughter. Musical laughter. A flutter of red hair. Citrine-colored eyes. She smiles. His soul is torn open._

In the hazy expanse between waking and dying, Brash dreamed and the vapor seared him. But it was dying that was sweetest, the waking utter torment. Because whenever he opened his eyes to the violet fog, he was brutalized with a single sliver of knowledge, just three little words, over and over again.

_Bright is dead._

He would have cried out but he was immobilized by the toxin. He could feel and he could see but he could not move, could not scream. He could only lie there as the oppressive weight of pain curled up inside his chest like some festering parasite, nesting in the empty space his heart once occupied and feasting on the venom pumping into his veins, growing and growing until he thought it might burst out through his ribcage.

And it would be a pleasant end when it came, only the toxin pulled him deeper and deeper into a blissful stupor where he could see her again…his precious kitten.

_Sunlight sparkles between splotches of green waving in the breeze. Her red hair flutters, catching the light. She laughs and those citrine eyes call to him. She smiles contentedly and hums softly, a slow tempo, a sad melody. He shatters._

Agony swept over him in crushing waves as he opened his eyes to the violet vapor, thick, swirling. _Bright is dead._ Rage ripped through him like a roar but he lay paralyzed on the ground beneath coiling, black cables digging into his body like flesh-eating worms. He hated himself for what he did to her, for not choosing her. He turned her in to save his own skin and, in the end, he wished he was dead. Rivera believed the vapor a torment but he welcomed the poison. The only torment for him was truth.

His beautiful firehair was dead.

_Sunlight sparkles in the swaying trees and her hair is fluttering in the breeze, fire-like in the midday sun. She laughs, a musical sound, as she gazes at him, calling to him. She smiles and begins to hum, a soft and sad sound but sweet—sweet because it is her voice. Her hands gently caress his face, brushing the hair from his brow as he gazes up at her from where his head rests in her lap. He wants to reach for her, but his heart just won’t let him die._

He wakened to the feel of heat scorching his veins like sharp nails being drawn down his insides, tearing. _Bright is…dead._ He tried to remember what he loved about living, tried to remember so it wouldn’t hurt so much to know he killed her to save himself, but he couldn’t think of anything but her. Not his apartment at the palace in Scarcewall, his fine silks, his golden trinkets, his custom armor, his mastercrafted sword. He didn’t once think of Jarlan or Rose or even Lord Mace, not any of his fellow knights or even his ill-tempered family. There was only a sweet, firehaired kitten…the woman he loved.

_She is humming and stroking his brow, fingers combing through his hair. The light behind her is so bright, the trees a great, green blur, and he thinks he could die like this and be content. His lids feel heavy, her song lulling him to sleep, but he refuses to close his eyes. If he closes his eyes, she’ll disappear._

Anguish twisted him awake, pounding the truth in his brain like a spike into the ground.

_She gently sways, humming, adorned with sunlight._

He could feel his cheeks were wet but he would fucking grieve if he could only scream.

_Her fingertips brush his brow, her song thrumming through his body._

It wasn’t a test. She wouldn’t regenerate. She was dead. Dead because of him!

_Her eyes meet his, two glowing citrines, and she smiles. The wind catches her fire-red hair and it dances around her face._

He dragged her there. Even when he saw her, when he kissed her, when he fucking knew he loved her, he took her there. And he stalled outside the fucking cave hoping he would change his godsdamned mind because he knew he couldn’t bear it and _still_ he took her in.

_He reaches up and her hair glides between his fingers like a silken breeze._

Why the _fuck_ was he still alive?

_His hand passes through her cheek like a ghost._

He screamed inside his mind as his body betrayed him, felt every ounce of pain, physical and emotional. Misery. Woe. They cradled him in their sharp and stinging arms, a comfort like blades sawing into his skin. His wounds were rubbed raw. Her song echoed off the chamber walls, reverberating in his broken body. It danced with gleeful twirls and penetrated every pore. It was in the very vapor around him. The cables envenomated him but it was the vapor that was poison—choking him, blinding him. Its deceptive tendrils curled against his nose, spearing up into his nostrils, clawing at his brain, digging into that scarred lump of flesh and mixing things around, confusing him, making him hear her song outside the dream. Was he dreaming now?

And there she was, a firehair, moving through the toxic cloud like some heavenly being. Had the gods sent her? Had she come for him? Would he finally be allowed to die? She knelt in front of him, scattering vapor in a rush. For a moment, he was undone by the lie of her in front of him but the truth drilled the pain back into his brain. _Bright is dead._ And then he knew she must be there to help him die. _Kill me, please,_ he begged within his mind.

She unhooked the cables and the venom spilled out of festering sores on his flesh. He felt himself sinking into the ecstasy of surrender. He could float away on his feeling, looking into her face one last time. His eyes drifted closed.

Suddenly there were hands on him. Brash looked up and saw her face. She was struggling to lift him but his body was a dead weight. She grunted, straining from the sheer size of him, but he wouldn’t budge. She was panting, panicked, as she gave up trying to lift his torso and went down to his feet. Her tiny hands wrapped around his ankles and she heaved. His body slid along the ground a few inches then stopped. She kept pulling but her boots had no traction on the wet stone.

She was so fucking weak.

Brash couldn’t smile but joy lit up his numb brain and rocketed through his entire body. She was _weak!_ She was fucking weak! He wanted to cry, wanted to scream. His kitten was alive! She was alive and weak and trying to save him! Adrenaline began pumping through him, demanding his body not to surrender. She was alive. She was alive and, if the gods would give him the chance, he would stop it nothing to protect her. He would die before he failed her again.

Bright cried out in one last, vain attempt to pull him out of the room but his body wouldn’t be moved. She stopped, out of breath, and gazed at him in desperation. Her face was a picture of apology. Bright brushed the hair out of her face and came to kneel at his side.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, caressing his cheek, her thumb passing over his scar. “I’ll come back for you. I promise.”

And then she was on her feet and across the room. She threw her whole body against the heavy, iron door and pushed it open as far as it could go. He could see hazy torchlight through the dispersing vapor and her silhouette...

Then she was gone. Gone, but not dead. Brash closed his eyes, melting into the warmth of regeneration. And, ever so faintly, he was smiling.


End file.
